Feanare
by Ailsa89
Summary: The quest affected many people. This is written from the Feanare's point of view. A one-part piece.


Written with no influence from the movies. A piece I have been writing for precisely thirteen months. In successive baths. I found it in a battered suitcase, eerily enough. I use Fëanarë to describe my perspective of the quest. Not a Mary-Sue. Frodo's friend. The tenses shift purposely to give a sense of "presence" I suppose. I hope they don't confuse...Can you spot the time when I stopped writing for a week and then came back to it again? Hope that it brings as much joy as I had writing it.  
  
~  
  
The night loomed up, like a demon of terrifying speed. Fëanarë looked up into the spatter of stars and felt her troubles spin away out into the void. Her heart ached. Ached for those she had left far behind. And it was far. Over mountain and field, through pasture and meadow, over sea and river, miles from home- to be here. Filled with people she didn't know or understand. Every lighted candle above her was like one hope after another winking out.  
  
"Still here, Fëa?" came a voice behind her. She jumped.  
  
"What? Oh yes! Sorry," she exclaimed, spinning round. A figure was outlined in the darkness, short and pleasantly familiar. Fëanarë settled onto the bench again and patted the place beside her. "Come and sit with me," she said.  
  
The figure approached into the light and dropped down next to her. His eyes were turned to the horizon. It was lined with sunlight that still trickled over the wasteland.  
  
"Do you come out here every night?" he asked, turning his gaze to Fëanarë. She looked back with a smile.  
  
"Mostly, yes."  
  
"Why?"  
  
She paused and thought, brushing her hair back from her face.  
  
"I don't know," she said hesitantly, "I suppose it's just so beautiful at night."  
  
And it was. The valley was lit silver in the moon's rays. Lamplight shimmered on the waterfall so that it danced with life. Creatures ran amongst the foam, their gentle laughter floating over the distant roar of water. The forgotten scent of magic dusted the air.  
  
"Frodo," Fëanarë spoke after sometime, "When do you leave tomorrow?"  
  
The hobbit looked back at her with a miserable glance.  
  
"Too soon," he sighed. The elf smirked and put an arm round him.  
  
"Come now," she whispered, "You're going to see the world. And all it's many wonders. Think of all the marvels you will see!"  
  
"But now all that glory is scarred by evil. Whatever beauty may have been before will be gone in these times," replied Frodo. He hung his head between his knees and put a hand to his brow. "It's all too great a-matter for me."  
  
Voices started from somewhere in the pillars of Rivendell court. Fëanarë leaned towards her friend and placed a pale hand on his hair and lowered her face to his ear.  
  
"If anyone in the land has the courage to bear this burden, you are certainly the one."  
  
Frodo looked up, only to see the flicker of a white dress disappear within the trees.  
  
~~~~~~~  
  
Whispers of silvery snow woke Fëanarë. She was lying beneath the crimson sheets of her bed. She slipped out. She was still dressed from last night. Her eyes were gummed with sleep and her face was pale with weariness. But there was still time! The elf ran from the room, rubbing her eyes and tearing her fingers through her hair. Dawn was tracing the sky as she ran. Her feet echoed on the stone, leaving a note intertwining with the next. Hurtling down some steps, she reeled round to meet the path through the gardens. There was already the sound of horse hooves and of voices from amongst the tall ferns. She almost gave a yell of frustration. But yanking up her dress hem, she sprinted into the glade.  
  
The Fellowship were already gathered there, faces turned to where Elrond was addressing them.  
  
"Frodo, do you take this burden freely?"  
  
The hobbit stepped forwards, eyes hard and jaw set.  
  
"I do," he said in a voice of cold determination.  
  
"Very well," replied the elf-lord, "May you all travel safely and soundly and may your quest end in success. My blessing goes with you all."  
  
The company bowed their heads and turned to leave.  
  
"No, wait!" Fëanarë shouted breathlessly. They spun round to her. Their eyes drifted up to Fëanarë standing on a moss strewn boulder. Her arms were outstretched towards them. She scrambled down and hurried across to bid them farewell. Each member she took by the hand and gave her own special message. She reached Frodo and knelt down to face him.  
  
"You will destroy this evil. No matter what perils may befall you; you are the Ringbearer and worthy of this quest. Good luck. Oh, all my blessing on you and the Fellowship!"  
  
With that, the friends embraced, feeling tears warm on their cheeks, then parted.  
  
"Farewell," the hobbit murmured. His hand clutched hers. "I'll miss you."  
  
Fëanarë squeezed her friend's shoulder.  
  
"And I you. Farewell."  
  
~~~~~~~  
  
Mordor. A black, desert-like wasteland. Jets of flame spout from smoke- blackened rock. Ash dusts the pathways and the air seethes with sticky heat. There is only the foul scent of orcs and perhaps the thrilling sugary smell of power. Beyond this stands Barad-Dûr, Sauron's stronghold. Boiling rock tumbles unto its chasms and pits like spilt water. Its cold dark towers shape faces and cast evil shadows that tame the orcs into submission.  
  
An army marches from the narrow tall doors followed by nine cloaked figures on horseback. A shriek flies up from somewhere amongst them. The riders charge out through the wasteland, zigzagging through geysers of flame, out of the black gates and are gone.  
  
~~~~~~~  
  
Fëanarë stood at the balcony, her fingers curled about the white carvings. Her eyes shone in the weak sunlight. Still her face was turned to the south and still she was waiting...waiting...waiting... It had been two weeks and never had she relented. The elf paid no heed to the anxious ladies. She was weary from lack of sleep as she got up so early and left so late. But still she kept constant vigil. Still, no one returned.  
  
~~~~~~~  
  
"The Ring," said Frodo, "It's grown so heavy."  
  
Samwise glanced up worriedly. His master looked so pale in the half-light. And he seemed shrunken. Sam shivered and placed her dark hand on Frodo's knee.  
  
"The better we'll be, the sooner we're rid of It," he said.  
  
Frodo looked up wearily, eyes hollow and without light. His swollen face could barely manage the smallest smile. He sank down and ran a hand through his hair. As he did this, his thoughts turned to Fëanarë, far back in Rivendell. His friend of friends, next to Sam. The one who could probably get them out of this mess. His body ached all over, as if he had been flung into a bramble patch. His mind was weak and all memories were nothing but words. Frodo knew they had happened but could not see them. He felt so blind. There was nothing left in his head except a wheel of bright burning fire.  
  
~~~~~~~  
  
Isengard. A pillar of stone white. It's crest towers over the ruined landscape like pincers open to strike. Windows litter the surface in glassy pinpricks. The faint sound of hammers of metal wafts over the fumy air. The sick taste of oil and sulphur starts down below in the depths of the mines. Orcs work without rest, making weapons and tools.  
  
Already, swarms of orcs pour from within, hemmed by red-eyed dogs. They are under the steady gaze of Saruman . He places a clawed hand on the banister and smiles down on his creation.  
  
"Go forth to Helm's Deep," he instructs a captain behind him. "You will face the army of Rohan. Your thousands will face their hundreds. Go forth!"  
  
The captain roars his approval, his teeth bared in a malicious smile.  
  
~~~~~~~  
  
Growing up the Rivendell walls, the ivy spiralled round and blossomed into a white flower. This frayed end caught Fëanarë's attention and she plucked it from the leaves. She placed it among the nest of others in her basket. Only the most beautiful had gone into it; vibrant reds and purple, pale yellows and moaves and pure white ones dangling over the rush edges.  
  
"Just one more; Frodo's favourites," she told herself, searching the trees. But the pretty little blue flower was nowhere to be found. Though she ducked under fallen branches and pushed through undisturbed ground and scrabbled in rind-filled ponds, the five petals were not present.  
  
"Where are you?" she muttered. And suddenly, a memory came to her. Frodo's voice from long ago. A conversation from years before.  
  
"You can always find it somewhere peaceful. Secluded and safe. It's like me!" he had laughed, "And that's why it's my favourite."  
  
Fëanarë opened her eyes and, without quite knowing why, she plunged into the throng of ivy clutching at the wall. It was the furthest away possible from all the noise of voices, waterfalls, wind and rain. A peaceful, secluded and safe clearing. Fëanarë tore the grass from her path and tumbled over and over. When she stopped and looked down, the little blue flower was between her hands.  
  
~~~~~~~  
  
The fortress of stone stood in a fog of rain. Not an inch of battlement was without a guard. A jumble of pikes and spears jutted up through the darkness. Hard faces peered out to the horizon. Orcs teemed below, the crunch of armour and sword ringing in the damp air. It was a dark, fearful silence. Though they supposed that some would survive, who would die?  
  
Aragorn was mounted on the highest tower, hair plastered to his skull. His eyes were fixed on the milling army.  
  
"Ready!" he shouted. His grip on his hilt tightened. "Fire!"  
  
A rain of arrows streamed from the fortress. Droves of orcs fell dead, smitten with shafts between their eyes. Ladders were thrust onto the wall, clattering on the stonework. Men were overcome by the immense numbers swarming up the meet them. Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli were all locked on a main battlement, penned in by sabres and knives.  
  
"Fight for Frodo and Sam," Aragorn bellowed through the storm, "Buy the Ringbearer time!"  
  
~~~~~~~  
  
"They must be out of time," murmured the lady at the door, "Come inside, please. Don't get your hopes up too high."  
  
Fëanarë bit back comment to this and just stood at the balcony. The wide valley was devoid of life. No figures approached the haven nor, in these times of evil, did anybody leave.  
  
"Come home," the elf whispered. And somewhere in her heart of hearts, a voice called the first words of doubt. What if they did not come home? What if Frodo, Aragorn, Gandalf, Sam and all the Fellowship fell to shadow? What if the Ring was reclaimed?  
  
~~~~~~~  
  
Darkness wandered the desert. The armoured hobbits struggled over the landscape, one supporting the other. Sam was tired and dying of thirst. His whole body felt leaden. But his own huts felt like mere graves when he looked at his master. Frodo was papery thin, skin rumpled and course. His eyes were sunken like an old mans and blank as white chalk. Each step was a huge force of will. Every movement made him wince. At last, he collapsed in a heap, pulling Sam down too.  
  
"Please, Mister Frodo. Just a little further," he begged. But the hobbit was too weak and starved to even protest. He just curled up tighter and fell into a trouble sleep. Sam lay back beside him.  
  
"This is foolish," he muttered, "We should've lain down together and gone to sleep days ago."  
  
But the hope remaining inside him would not be drowned. The hobbits both slept on the ash-ridden plain, lost amid terrible nightmares. Woken only by the sound of feet tramping along, not far behind.  
  
~~~~~~~  
  
Elves marched away into the night, waved off by Arwen and Fëanarë. When they were lost from view, the elf turned to her friend.  
  
"Arwen," she said in elvish, "Do you believe all is lost?"  
  
She bowed her head, black hair tumbling round her shoulders.  
  
"No. No, I think Frodo is able to complete his task. I think Aragorn can defeat the evil hat stalks the southern lands. I think he will return victorious and all is no not lost, but...Fëanarë, I do not know if I believe Frodo or Sam will return."  
  
The elves looked at each other sadly. Fëanarë shook her head and held a hand to her eyes.  
  
"I don't know if anything has the power to destroy the might of Sauron. Perhaps, Frodo can though. Perhaps so. But if he does not return? How will we honour him?"  
  
"We will be thankful," said Arwen softly. "And we will remember it all."  
  
~~~~~~~  
  
The Fields of Cormallon were grey and ugly in the moon's light. Gimli and Legolas were walking through the sea of bodies, searching. They had found nothing. No sign of Pippin anywhere.  
  
"He must not be here!" the dwarf protested, "We cannot have lost him."  
  
"Gimli, many men died today. And been lost. There is no one looking for them. We must think and trust ourselves. Will we- can we really find Pippin?" Legolas said quietly. Gimli snorted.  
  
"I believe we can. He is here somewhere. I feel it in my bones."  
  
He promptly tripped over the troll sprawled out across the battleground.  
  
"Cursed thing!" he bellowed, struggling to his feet. But then he froze, gazing down at where five hairy toes were protruding from under the troll's side.  
  
~~~~~~~  
  
The Houses of Healing smelt of herbs and scented flowers. Lying on a wide, white bed was Merry, his arm stinging like fire. Aragorn was at his side, holding up a bowl. In it were the leaves of athelas- King's Foil.  
  
"Drink, little one," he said, holding it to Merry's lips, "Drink and be free of the shadow that holds you."  
  
~~~~~~~  
  
Gandalf was flying. Amid the ruins of Mordor, he searched for Frodo and Sam. Mount Doom's flames scorched the sky and it began to crumble to ashes . There, on a rock far below, he saw two small figures.  
  
"Down, Gwahir. I see them!"  
  
The eagle soared in the sky and spiralled round. Down he flew and to where the hobbits were lying. Carefully, the wizard lifted them both into his lap then called to his steed.  
  
"Now away, Gwahir. Let us return to Cormallon!"  
  
And they were just a fireball in the sky. While below, Mordor crashed in on itself. Walls tumbled to the ground and rocks splintered then plummeted into the abyss.  
  
~~~~~~~  
  
There were barely any elves left in Rivendell. It was quiet and lonely. Only a few remained. Fëanarë was keeping her vigil on the balcony. Despair was in her heart. There was no life in her. But she still refused to believe that was no hope. There was still time...  
  
Fëanarë's eyes strayed to the pathway wearily. She almost flew from her chair in delight.  
  
"They've come! At last, the Fellowship has returned!"  
  
She ran down the stairs to the glade. But already it was crowded with people. All bustling round, asking questions, flinging praise. Not all were present. But she caught a quick glimpse of Sam in the throng and she drew him free.  
  
"Oh Sam! You're here- oh, my dear Samwise, is it really truly you?"  
  
The hobbit wrapped his arms around her legs.  
  
"Miss Fëanarë, we're back. Mister Frodo's been dying to see you again."  
  
"He's here? Where? Tell me, Sam!"  
  
The hobbit could not resist a smile as he pointed to the centre of the crowd.  
  
~~~~~~~  
  
It was dark. Fëanarë looked up into the spatter of stars and felt her troubles spin away out into the void.  
  
"Still here, Fëa?" came a voice behind her. The elf did not jump or cry out. She just smiled and patted the bench beside her.  
  
"Come and sit with me."  
  
Frodo joined her and they embraced.  
  
"I never believed it was over," she whispered, "I knew you would return."  
  
"We needed you out there," said Frodo, "I missed you so much."  
  
Fëanarë out her lips close to his ear.  
  
"If anyone had the courage to bear that burden, you were certainly the one."  
  
-*End*- 


End file.
